


ice advisory

by Airheart



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-24 16:30:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17707757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airheart/pseuds/Airheart
Summary: Two old spirits watch over a stretch of highway on a dark and stormy night.





	ice advisory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Highlander_II](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Highlander_II/gifts).



> I've always been a fan of ambiguity in the stories of Jack Frost and Pitch Black, and the idea that their powers/domains often go hand in hand, so I was happy for a chance to finally write a bit of not-a-Guardian Jack and mean-but-necessary Pitch. I hope you enjoy this little snapshot <3

The globe in Jack’s pocket was a gift from the Man in the Moon, a palm-sized wooden version of the grand metal sculptures he gave to the big spirits, but it was Mother Nature who called to him through it. It glowed when she wanted to see him somewhere, a pinprick of icy blue light guiding him to where he needed to go. Tonight, it was a stretch of dark highway, drenched by the rain.

Jack alighted on a guardrail on a hill overlooking the road. Cars zipped along below him, their tires making sticky  _ whsk-whsk  _ noises on the wet blacktop. Mother Nature perched nearby, nearly indistinguishable from the night sky and the storm clouds she spun. She only glanced at him. She never gave him instructions once he was there, which was how he liked it.

Jack let the crook of his staff run along the top of the guardrail as he walked along it, watching the cars and leaving a trail of ice clinging to the metal. It was fall, not his peak season, and he wasn’t feeling particularly energetic. A thin sheen of ice on the road, a hard frost over the mostly-dead scrubbrush covering the hills. He spun his staff from one hand to the other, casting a cold wave over the cars, freezing the moisture lingering on their hoods. Any more would be overkill, and then no one would look forward to the winter snow. They were already tired of the rain. 

“Fancy meeting you here, Frost,” said a velvet voice, and golden eyes appeared in the darkness. Jack hopped down from the guardrail.

“Hey, Pitch,” he said. “Been a while.”

“Too long,” Pitch agreed. He stepped fluidly into the dim light, tall and colorless, his hands clasped behind his back. He came to stand next to Jack, surveying the icy road below. “I see you’ve been busy.”

“Nothing they weren’t expecting,” said Jack. 

“Hm, but will they pay it any attention?” 

“Isn’t that what you’re here for?”

Pitch smiled with thin lips. 

“I’ll certainly make them fear  _ something, _ ” he said. He looked over the guardrail, looking primly disgusted by the traffic. “They desensitize themselves to everything. They used to be afraid of science and technology.”

Jack rolled his eyes. Pitch didn’t notice, or pretended not to.

“Once they discovered light, nothing could stop them. Not money, not God.” Pitch shook his head. “And Nature kindly let them innovate, but she never reshaped herself for them. Danger remains. Disease, disaster, fire, rain… ice.” 

Jack didn’t rise to the bait. He followed Mother Nature when she wanted his help, and that was that. He wouldn’t try to explain himself to Pitch again, not now. It was Mother Nature who decided where the snow and ice went—Jack only put them there. He didn’t get to decide whether it was safe or not, he didn’t get to say no. He was numb to it now. That was why he could never be a Guardian, and he’d stopped caring about it a long time ago.

A few grains of black sand sprinkled from Pitch’s fingers, over the cars below. Some of them slowed, a little more careful, but most made no changes. Pitch curled his lip. “And still, they ignore what their instincts tell them. What  _ I  _ tell them.”

“Were you ever an actor?” Jack asked. 

Pitch squinted. “What?”

“Before you were chosen.” Jack gestured aimlessly. “You’re so dramatic about everything, like it’s an opera.” 

“I…” Pitch’s posture softened, and he leaned languidly on the guardrail, elbows resting on the frosty metal and his hands clasped delicately in front of him. “No, I wasn’t an actor. Everything was just… more dramatic in the Dark Ages. Are you making fun of me?”

“Yes,” Jack said flatly. “You know I hate it when you start monologuing.”

“Pardon me for giving voice to my inner thoughts.”

“Save it for the Guardians.” Jack sat down with his back to the rail, balancing his staff across his lap. “You don’t have anything to prove to me.”

Pitch shook his head again, but with good-natured exasperation this time. He relaxed, his fright aura dissipating. It never worked on Jack, anyway. The sprite cared so little for drama and status—nothing impressed or embarrassed him. He held no great respect for the Guardians, and no great disdain for the spirits of darkness and death and fear like Pitch. Jack was like Mother Nature: neutral, unpredictable, free. It frustrated the Guardians, who liked order and obedience, but Pitch rather liked it.

Rain began to pour again, though neither of them felt a drop of wetness. Jack picked up his staff and idly pointed it over his shoulder without looking, sending another gust of icy wind and frost to coat the road. Someone leaned on their horn.

“Yeah, that’ll make me stop,” said Jack. He poked at the ground with the end of his staff, scratching random patterns into the dirt. Vaguely, he hoped that there wouldn’t be any fatal accidents while he was there. 

Pitch seemed to be thinking the same thing. He cast another handful of black sand over the cars and said, “My plans for tonight did not include a run-in with the Reaper or one of his minions, but the way these humans are driving—”

“Don’t jinx it,” Jack interrupted. He scratched an X on the ground.

The rain only lasted a few minutes, then wind gusted past them, pushing at Jack’s arm. He looked up at the storm clouds as Mother Nature melted into them, and the wind began to pick up. She was moving on. Jack reached into his pocket and took out his globe, but it was dark. He looked up again, and waved at her as she left.

“Seems we’re done here,” said Pitch. He cut a handsome silhouette, his sharp face turned upwards as he watched the clouds roll and twist away, washed in silver as moonlight filtered through them. Jack leaned back against the guardrail.

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” he said.

Pitch looked down at him. It was hard to make out his expression, backlit as he was, but Jack imagined that he was smiling. 

“Why, Jack, I only just got here. I wasn’t planning on leaving.”

“You said you had plans.” 

“Perhaps I’m enjoying the company,” said Pitch. “It’s so rare that I have it.” 

Jack folded his hands behind his head and smiled.   
  



End file.
